


Screaming Devil Dogs

by Casey_Wolfe



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tumblr: genkillbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 07:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12030675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casey_Wolfe/pseuds/Casey_Wolfe
Summary: They sat in the silence of Brad’s foxhole, passing a lit cigarette between them.  Their sides pressed together under a blanket, as the cold tried to steal each breath away.





	Screaming Devil Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> The title is shit, I know. This is just a quick AU for Generation Kill Week, on Tumblr. I’ve been busy editing my novel and haven’t really gotten to participate, but I wanted to at least do something. Perhaps one of these days, I’ll be able to flesh this out. Until then...

“Colbert!”

He barely had time to register Fick’s voice before another body tumbled into the foxhole.

“Are you okay?”  Fick looked him over frantically.  There were cries of pain echoing up and down the line, and shouts for medics, after the latest mortar barrage from the enemy.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.  You?”  Brad’s eyes found red blossoming on Fick’s left arm but he was already pulling away.  “ _Sir_ -”

“Where the fuck is Schwetje?”

“Hopefully lost in the damn woods by now,” Brad grumbled.  Their new CO was useless.  Everyone knew Fick was the true commander of Bravo Company out there in the Ardennes, surrounded by nothing but snow and the enemy.

“I need to find Kocher,” Fick concluded.

Before he could even think about leaving, Person appeared, radio on his back.  “Sir, Captain Patterson is reporting that Alpha Company has engaged with Panzers.”

“Wonderful.”  Fick looked at Brad.  “I’ll update Kocher.  Find Chaffin and Jacks, make sure the mortar team is ready, just in case.”

“Yes sir.”

They went their separate ways, but that wound nagged at Brad.

* * *

Apparently, Doc Bryan nagged at Fick in Brad’s place, because the next time he saw the Lieutenant, there was scowl on his face and only a hissed “Tattletale” for an explanation.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“It was just a graze.”

All Brad did was raise a challenging brow.  Fick chose not to comment further.

They sat in the silence of Brad’s foxhole, passing a lit cigarette between them.  Their sides pressed together under a blanket, as the cold tried to steal each breath away.  They hadn’t seen any tanks - thankfully - only a stray Nazi patrol that had literally stumbled upon them in the fog.  Otherwise, the rest of the day had been blissfully uneventful.  Just another day in the Ardennes.

“Surgeon said Pappy’s foot should be fine,” Fick reported.  “Doc rode into Bastogne with him.”  One of their squad leaders had been shot in the foot, of all things.  Brad supposed it was better than the ass, which seemed to quickly be becoming a Bravo Company tradition.

“That’s good.  I’m sure he’ll hobble his old ass back out here in no time.”  
  
“Just in time to freeze it off altogether,” Fick mused, handing the cigarette back and blowing smoke up into the clear night.

Brad smirked, biting off a laugh of surprise.  Fick’s humor always managed to take him off guard.  Perhaps it was because he was an officer, perhaps it was that he was so young, or maybe it was his Ivy League education - likely it was all of the above - but Brad had expected Fick to be stuffy and uptight.  The reality was that Fick was not only brilliant, but kind and generous to a fault.  He was an exemplary officer, and Brad would follow him anywhere.

“You should get some rest, First Sergeant,” Fick mentioned, patting his knee and going to stand.

Brad snagged his wrist, stopping him.  “So should you.”

“I need to check on the men.”

“They’re fine, sir.  Safe and sound, shivering their asses off just like we are.”  Brad met his gaze, imploring, “Stay.”

Fick hesitated, licking his lips.  Finally, he nodded.  “Alright.”  He moved closer, almost snuggling now.  Brad reached up, peeling Fick’s helmet off and setting it down beside his own, the ace symbol reflecting back in the moonlight.  Fick only sighed, cold nose tucking into Brad’s neck.  “Brad.”

“I know.”  Brad’s arm was around his shoulders, rubbing up and down.  He rested his cheek on top of Fick’s head.  “Get some rest, Nate.  I’m here.”

Once he heard Fick’s breathing even out, Brad finally allowed himself to relax, drifting off to sleep himself.  The hellscape of the Ardennes - fuck, the whole damn war - could get along just fine without them for the night.

/End

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://thedenofcaseywolfe.tumblr.com/).


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